


Drabble-A-Thon

by madwriter223



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Family, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwriter223/pseuds/madwriter223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and ficlets written for the Drabble-A-Thon courtesy of ticcyyy of LJ. They combine into one series. ^__^</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabble-A-Thon

_"You can't be serious."_

“You can't be serious.”

“Aw, come on, Wilson. You promised.”

“I did not!”

“You said you'd do anything I wanted for my birthday.”

“I meant 'anything reasonable'.”

“A promise is a promise.”

“I am not wearing that!”

A disappointed look.

“... fine. But I get the same deal for my birthday.”

House grinned, and handed Wilson the flimsy skirt, unsuccessfully trying to not show his glee.

_uneasy & asleep on the couch_

Wilson knew he shouldn't have said that. He knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth.

They had been sitting on the couch for a few hours then, drinking beer and bickering as usual. Somehow the topic had shifted to rats and their superior intelligence. And it was during that when Wilson had made his blunder.

“Come on, House. Rats aren't that smart – you couldn't possibly teach even Steve tricks.”

Three things wrong in that: 1) implying House didn't know his rats, 2)offending Steve's species and 3) stating that House couldn't do something.

It was like waving a red flag at a bull. Or telling Cameron you have a problem. There was no escape.

So here he was now – laying in their bed alone, wishing there was a warm familiar body next to him and hoping House wasn't doing anything drastic in the livingroom. It was awfully quiet in there...

But hey, it wasn't like House was going to stick a knife into the socket. Again. After Wilson had said something stupid. Again.

With unease twisting his insides into painful knots, Wilson heaved himself out of bed, padding over to the door and listening intently for any sounds. Nothing.

'Oh, God.'

He yanked open the door, preparing himself for the worst and marched into the livingroom.

*~*~*~*~*~*

House looked like he was sleeping. No, scratch that – he was sleeping.

Bad leg propped on the couch by a few pillows, the coffe table strewed with pieces of cheese of all things, cane and Steve's empty cage by the armchair. A closer examination of the other's body showed the little plague carrier snuggled against House's neck, also asleep.

Wilson heaved a soft sigh of relief, then shook his head in exasperation, a small smile on his face.

Honestly. But this was too good a chance to miss.

He moved on careful feet to the small desk in the corner and took out their camera, moving back just as quietly. He readied the angle, then pressed the release button, capturing the image for as soon House found out about it. It should be safe in his computer by then, hopefully.

He hid the camera in one of the cupboards before gently laying his hand on the other man's shoulder, and shaking it slightly, careful not to jostle Steve too much.

Both master and pet started awake, House staring at him in half-asleep surprise, and the furball trying to burrow further into his neck with a squeek.

“Wha-?”

“Sleeping here will hurt your leg.” Wilson muttered softly, smiling when the other yawned. “Come to bed.”

House blinked at him in confusion a few times, then seemed to come fully awake, a large grin splitting his face. “You gotta see this.” he said, reaching up and taking a hold of Steve, putting him on the table and grabbing for the cheese.

Wilson cocked his head in puzzlement. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up, sit and watch.” he turned to his pet. “Just like we practised, right Steve?”

The oncologist raised an eybrow, but obediently settled down next to his lover.

House dangled a bit of cheese above Steve's head. “Sit.”

The rat, seemingly obeying the order, sat on his haunches, his upper body lifting as he sniffed at the treat.

“He's just reacting to the cheese.” Wilson said, unsurprised when the other glared at him.

“Oh yeah? How about this: roll over.”

And to Wilson's unending surprise, Steve lowered his front paws onto the table and promptly rolled onto his back, eyes still on the delicacy above him.

House chuckled smugly, and gathered his pet onto his palm, giving him his reward. “What do you say to that?” he asked the other, petting Steve's back with a gentle finger as he ate.

Ask the man – not likely. Threaten – not ever. Force him – no way in Hell. But challenge the man, even unconciously, and he would do friggin' anything!

“I think this could be your biggest accomplishment ever.” Wilson answered with a small smirk, and leaned closer to kiss the corner of House's mouth. “Now come to bed, we'll celebrate in the morning.” he gently extracted the small being from the other's hand and put him back in his cage.

“Don't I even get a proper kiss? Or at least a re-enactment of a fantasy?”

'Typical House.' “Bed. Now. And wipe that grin off your face.”

_domestic bliss_

The dishes were unwashed, the laundry not done, their clothes scattered over the floor in a messy trail leading from the front door to the couch. Steve was running in his wheel, producing little squeaking noises, and House was sitting naked at the piano, playing a slow song, blue eyes closed as he drunk in the soft music. Two empty plates sat on the coffee table, the Macademia nut pancakes left-over from breakfast nothing more than a comforting weight in his stomach, his whole body still warm from their earlier bout of 'man-sex', as House like to call it.

Wilson couldn't help the grin. Life was perfect.

_wedding_

They were eating lunch in Wilson's office, House trying to beat his record of how many fries he could steal, when Amber came in, radiating happiness (or on closer inspection by House – smugness).

“Wilson, of course I will.” she grinned at the man, ignoring the glaring blue eyes directed at her.

The oncologist's brows knitted in confusion. “Um... you will what?”

Amber lifted her hand, a simple band of white gold resting on her ring-finger, and Wilson's eyes widened. House raised an eyebrow at the ring, then the other rose as he noticed the other man's quickly darkening expression.

“Where did you get that?” Wilson asked, his tone low with barely suppressed anger.

Mistaking the tone for embarrassment, Amber continued grinning. “I was cleaning the closet when I found it. I was so surprised, but I wanted to tell you my answer right away.” she lifted her hand, making a show of admiring the ring for all to see. Or more specifically – for House to see. “It's a little too big, but I can go and have it shrunk right away.” she sent a smug look at the diagnostician. “Isn't it wonderful, House?”

Before the older man had a chance to utter the scathing retort already forming on his lips, Wilson abruptly got up and walked over to Amber.

She smiled sweetly at him, thinking he was going to kiss her. Her eyes widened in shock when her hand was captured in a harsh grip, and the ring was yanked off.

Brown eyes she had never before seen so angry turned to her. “This is not for you. It never was and it never will be.” Wilson said, the words leaving his mouth in a low hiss. “Never again touch this or any of my things, understand?”

House really wasn't surprised when the Bitch's only answer was to slap Wilson and storm out of the office. He watched quietly as the other looked at the item of disaggreement, then moved back to his seat, heaving a deep sigh as he sat down.

After a few moments, he decided it was safe to break the silence. “So... whose ring is that?”

Wilson gave an unamused laugh and leaned across the desk, grabbing House's hand and depositioning the ring in it. “Yours, actually.” he said simply, smiling when the other's eyes widened.

House blinked a few times, trying to process the words. “So... which wife was I supposed to be?”

A chuckle. “Number one actually. But then you met Stacy, and well...”

“Yeah.” House interrupted gruffly, not wanting to go there at the moment. He glanced down at the ring, then at the only constant person in his pathetic life. His caretaker, his best friend, his companion, his occasional lover. He grinned.

He slipped the ring on, and flexed his fingers, all the time aware of Wilson staring at him. “Wife Number Four has a certain appeal to it too.” he said mock-thoughtfully.

“... you could also be Husband Number One, because I seriously doubt you'd go all wifery on me and cook.”

“I got the best take-outs of the town on speed dial.”

“Even better.”

_visiting the parents_

“... you and James... together?”

“That's right.”

“And he... proposed?”

“Wanna see the ring?”

“...yes.” Pause. “Very... stylish.”

“Thanks.” A small smile.

Mr. Wilson cleared his throat. “Where is James by the way?”

“I left him a message. He should be her-” The door burst open. “Hi, Wilson.”

“I'm going to kill you. Mom, Dad, I can explain.”

“No need, Greg already told us everything.”

“I expect you two to stay for dinner.”

“You're... okay with this?”

“Please James, give us some credit. You two've been practically married for years now. It's about time you took responsibility.”

“And who knows, maybe this time it'll be permanent.”

Wilson's jaw dropped while House sniggered. “Aren't you glad I did this?”

_punch_  
There was no way in Hell this could've ended differently. Telling the parents never ends pretty, and especially considering these were _his_ parents, this couldn't've ended even in quiet despise.

So he was fully prepared for when his father lunged at him, grabbing his arm and twisting it painfully behind his back.

“So you're a fag, huh?” he hissed, the rage in his eyes almost palpable.

Despite the pain in now two limbs, House somehow managed to still sound cheeky. “Yup.”

Would he get a slap? Maybe a kick to his bum leg? Nah, this looked like a solid-

His father was suddenly yanked away from him and brought to the floor by a punch to the face. Judging by the crunch and blood his nose was definitely broken.

This he hadn't expected. Ever.

House stared at his fallen father, then moved astonished eyes to Wilson, who was now shaking his hand to relieve the sting from his now bruised knuckles.

“You touch him again,” the oncologist practically growled, glaring at the older man. “And I'll make you pay for everything you've done to him.”

Without waiting for an answer, Wilson stepped over the man, and took hold of his lover's hand.

“Blythe, a pleasure as always.” he smiled at the shocked-into-stillness woman and dragged the unresisting House out of the room.

It was in the elevator when the diagnostician finally regained his voice.

“I have never wanted you more.”

Wilson smirked and allowed his lips to be captured in a deep kiss.

_second best_

(House POV)

Amber Volakis. The Cutthroat Bitch. The Female House. The bane of his existance. The wedge between him and Wilson. Wilson's newest Love of His Life.

As soon as she had appeared in their lives, she had been nothing but trouble. All over Wilson, trying to repay House for firing her. Taking the last thing he had left that he actually cherished.

Considering how nothing he did no longer worked, how Wilson didn't even try to keep close to House, like he did during all of his other affairs and marriages, maybe this time the newest future-Mrs. Wilson was here to stay.

Maybe it was actually the best for Wilson. He had been using the man since ever, taking everything he did for granted, never show how much he appreciated all the time spent with him. He probably should have seen it from the start. Maybe he did, but just didn't want to believe it.

But when one's sitting all alone with nothing else to do but think, some conclusion came by themselves, no matter how painful they were.

Maybe she was the better one for Wilson. She wouldn't demand so much of him without giving anything back. She wouldn't destroy the happiness he could find in life, be it another girlfriend or wife. She wouldn't cause him so much worries, not having the habit of self-destructing. She would keep up with him, on two healthy legs and no debilitating pain. She would bicker with him, her wit and scathing tongue housian enough to amuse him to no end.

Maybe she wasn't the second best after all. Maybe Gregory House was.  
[A/N] Sorry for this one. I just kinda figured the whole Amber mess could be seen like this.

_nightmare_

When Wilson had a nightmare, he was never still. Depending on the level of it, he would twist & whimper or thrash & scream. But he was never still nor silent.

House always made it a point to wake the other up before he got too violent. With the way Wilson usually was during bad-leg-days, he would probably get himself sick with guilt if he accidently kicked the diagnostician or even made him fall out of bed, like it almost happened once.

So House would wake him, and when the younger man had his eyes open, staring at him while still half-trapped in the nightmare, he would move. He would cautiously scoot closer and gently lay his hand on his scalp, smoothing his sweat-damped hair from his forehead. He would repeat the soothing movements till Wilson's breathing calmed, till his heart slowed and the younger man's eyes closed, succumbing to hopefully peaceful dreams.

When House had a nightmare, one could barely notice it. He never made a sound as he would tense, curling his body into as tight a ball as he could with his bad leg, protecting himself from monsters unseen. When it was bad, he would shiver, his face scrunching up in uncounscious distress and fear, but he would never make a sound, not even one whimper.

This could possibly be the thing that disturbed Wilson the most – the fact that subconsciously House accepted everything, that he didn't fight what his mind was showing him. Wilson knew that those images were mostly memories, and that thought filled him with indescribable anger.

So Wilson would move closer to his lover on those night, wrapping his arms around the diagnostician, gradually tightening the hug until the other would be pressed against his chest, burying his face in his shirt, hiding from the horrors of his dreams. Wilson would rub his back, soothingly, pressing firm comforting kisses to the top of his head till the other would relax, at least slightly – proof that the dreams were at bay, for now. He would not move away all night though, he would not unwrap his arms from their embrace, keeping House safe in-between his arms while he kept watch over his peace.

_toothbrush_

Wilson blinked as he stared at the small cage on the coffee table. “House?”

“Yeah?” his lover called out from the kitchen, currently with his head burried in the fridge.

“Why is there a toothbrush in Steve's cage?” The question really shouldn't feel stupid, given the situation, but it still did.

House came to stand next to him, handing him a beer. “Looks to me like it's letting Steve do all the work.”

Which was true, it was simply lying there while Steve nibbled on the stiff hairs.

The oncologist shook his head to get rid of that disturbing statement. “But why?!”

“You said Steve stunk.” Wilson really should watch what he was saying, he really should.

“Okay.” An exasperated sigh. “Then why didn't you give him a bath?”

“I did. I even cleaned his cage.” So that was how House spent his day off.

Wilson cocked his head to the side as a new question popped up in his head. “How the hell did you get him to use it?”

“New rodent-toothpaste for breeders. Tastes like cheese, costs more than your alimonies combined, but is easy on the digestive system. He won't get sick if he swallows, so no tiny vomit for you to clean.” House kissed his neck and sat down on the couch, reaching for the remote. “And before you ask – that's a soft-haired toothbrush, so we don't have to worry about getting a miniature dentist.”

Wilson stared at the other man in bewilderment, then plopped down heavily, taking a swing from his beer. “Okay.” A pause. “What should I say to get you to do the dishes?”

“I'm open for bribery.”

_sadness_

He could feel his eyes welling up with tears, the salty droplets running past his lids and down his cheeks.

He had thought he would be dissensitized by now. That the sight of that body (broken, unmoving, so familiar) wouldn't cause such sadness, such anguish to fill his chest.

A sob escaped his throat, and he lifted his hand, covering his mouth so that other sounds wouldn't be heard, so that they wouldn't upset his companion.

“Wilson... are you crying?”

He sniffled miserably and turned sorrowful eyes to his lover. “Mufasa died.”

House stared at him for a moment with a bewildered expression, then shook his head with a roll of his eyes. He reached out, wrapping an arm around the oncologist's shoulder, and pulled him close to his side.

With another sniffle, Wilson pressed tight against the older man for a moment then relaxed, laying his head on House's shoulder and closing his eyes, unconcerned about the still falling tears.

_thong_

“House. Why are you wearing a dress?”

“Because if I wore a miniskirt my future generations would freeze off.”

A raised eyebrow. “Seriously.”

“Why Cuddy, don't you remember that bet I lost? Shame on you, though you were pretty drunk.”

“I wasn't _that_ drunk! And I remember betting you to wear something else.”

“And I took it to the next level.”

“I can see.” A pause. “I'm sorry to say this, but those shoes don't match the rest of your outfit.”

“I'll make sure to ask your opinion next time.”

“So, you're not wearing...”

“Oh, I am. Wilson can testify to that, can't you Jimmy?”

A satisfied grin from a smug oncologist.

“Oh God.”

“Yup, Wilson was real appreciative that I lost that bet.”

“Don't want to hear it!” Loud clacking of heels walking away.

“I'm willing to lose more often now!”

“GAH!!”

_I'm sorry_

“You wanna play a game?” House asked, nibbling on Wilson's ear and cupping his buttocks.

Wilson's breath left him in a shudder, and he leaned closer, encouraging more contact. House had been 'spicing up' their sex life recently, and the oncologist could hardly wait what the older man had planned for tonight.

At his next words Wilson's arousal dropped like a stone, though.

“You wanna be the bad cop?” Tritter's smug face flashed before his eyes. “I can be the desperate, filthy addict, pinning for a-”

“Stop.” A dark, low word.

House paused and disentangled himself from the other, fixing his gaze on Wilson's averted eyes.

He blinked at the anger in the brown orbs, the tight expression, the tense body. Of course Wilson wouldn't like his offer, wouldn't take the opportunity to have power over him, to punish him for the thing he knew Wilson hated about him – the Vicodin. Wilson would rather silently seethe than act out his anger. House should have known better than to bring it up, and cause the other man to lose the peace of heart of the last few weeks.

Wilson tried to step back, move away from him, but the diagnostician took a soft hold of his arm, preventing the movement.

House leaned closer, laying his forehead on the other's clavicle.

“I'm sorry.” For ruining the mood. For making you angry. For causing you worry. For being an addict. “I'm sorry.” For everything.

Wilson was still with tension for a moment, his expression tightening before he let out a deep heavy sigh. His hand moved to the back of House's head, fingers curling in his hair and pressing them tighter together. He bent his head lower, burying his face in the dark locks, his other arm wounding around the other's shoulders, drawing them even closer.

“It's okay.” he whispered, pressing a firm kiss to his lover's temple. “I'm not mad, it's okay.”

House closed his eyes and allowed himself to be held, trying desperately to believe that.

_911_

“I'm calling 911!”

“Wilson, you don't have t-”

“Of course I have to, can't you see this?!” Desperate swiping. “Can you feel where the cut is, I can't find it!”

“Wilson, calm dow-”

“I am calm! This much blood from your goddamn foot that the towel is bloodied through, and I AM calm! Happy?!”

“Wils-”

“Get the damn phone and call 911, you might have hit a vein or even an artery, you'll need stitches, and where is the friggin' cut?!”

“WILSON!”

“What?!”

“It's fake blood.”

An astonished pause. “What?” The word is so clipped one could hardly recognize it as a question.

“It's fake blood. I was gonna prank Cuddy tommorow, but I dropped the container. It fell on my foot and spilled, but before I could get it you were in here, forcing me to sit while you got a towel and told me to call 911.”

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?” A dangerous tone.

“I tried, but you kinda weren't listening.”

Wilson stared, hard and angry, at his lover, then sighed heavily, the tension leaving his body. He continued swipping at the foot in his grasp, albeit at a much calmer rate, and when it was sufficiently clean he looked it over to any cuts. Finding none, he set the appendage down and got up, swiftly smacking House upside the head.

“Next time, warn me _before_ I start freaking out!”

“Yes, dear.”

 _waterbed_  
Wilson replaced the phone on the hook, then moved back to the couch, sitting down next to the diagnostician already there.

“That was Amber in case you were wondering.”

“I heard her shrilling your ear off from here.”

“Ah.” The oncologist paused, then cocked his head to the side. “When you were helping me move out of her apartment, did you make a hole in the waterbed, then tape it shut in such a way it would give if anyone lay down on it?”

“Yup.”

Wilson blinked and took a swing of his beer. He probably shouldn't give in to his urge to lean closer and kiss the man senseless – it would only encourage him.

 _resentment_  
It was not fair, not fair at all. Why? She was smart, beautiful, understanding, _caring_! Yet why was Wilson the one allowed to kiss his cheek and brand him with a goddamn ring?!

She had been surprised at first, they all were. Then, when she realized the significance of the stupid band, she had been heartbroken, and spent the whole night sobbing on Chase's shoulder. Then she understood the depth of the situation and she grew angry.

She fell in love with him first, or at least she had let House know her feelings first. She had shown him nothing but a willingness to be together and to help him get better, while Wilson had betrayed the diagnostician over and over, be it with pills or the police. Yet somehow he had still not chosen _her_.

So it was perfectly understandable she had a right to be rude to the oncologist or to forget to mention to House he had called. It certainly wasn't her fault _someone_ had slipped the younger man some laxatives into his morning coffee. It truly wasn't.

After all, it was not fair.

 _envy_  
He was jealous. He wasn't ashamed to admit it – he was.

He was the one Cameron was with, the one she joked with, ate with, had sex with. Yet somehow it was also him Cameron came to to cry over House being with Wilson. It had been his shirt getting soaked though with her tears when House came to work with a certain ring on his finger. It was him who rubbed her back and whispered 'it'll be okay's to her, trying to comfort her. It was also him who had to duck and dodge the things Cameron had thrown on the numerous rants she had performed on the subject.

He was slowly loosing his patience though. How long was her anger going to last? Why wasn't she ever that angry over him?

He was glad House had found someone. Everyone deserved some love and happiness from their closest person, especially someone who had so much pain in his life.

Only _why_ couldn't he have that with _his_ closest person?

Was he only ever going to be second best?

_pissed off_

He had been surprised at first, like the rest. But he had just shrugged and accepted this as a new insanity of working under House. Okay, so his boss turned out to be gay and currently involved with his best friend, who he just happens to be sharing a balcony with. A lot of awkwardness could and most probably would ensue from this situation, but nothing he couldn't ignore.

But then his blasted mind started thinking – if he was, supposedly, turning into House, would he eventually turn gay too? And he really liked women and their enticing curves, he didn't want to give them up! But then again House had been with Stacy once, and for a long time. And now he was with Wilson.

Oh, he knew those thoughts of his were irrational and downright monoric. But still, each time he saw his boss go all 'in-love' (housian style), he couldn't help thinking those damn things.

“Would you two give it a rest?! Or at least get a room!”

“Wha'cha matter, homeboy? Jealous?”

An annoyed scoff. “Hardly.”

Which was the truth, he wasn't jealous. Right now, he was seriously pissed off.

Maybe he needed therapy.

 _hogging the bedsheets & cold winter night_  
During winter, House's leg hurt more because of the constant cold seeping into his bones despite the warm clothes Wilson had him wear during the day. The oncologist also made sure he always had an electric blanket on him in case of a bad spasm happening during the day or at work.

At night, Wilson would often wake up shivering because House had once again stolen the bedsheet, wrapping it around himself like a cocoon. Trying to stay warm.

Wilson never tried taking the bedsheets back, but instead would gt up and go get the three extra blankets he keeps in the closet.

One he'd keep for himself. The other two he would wrap around House, rubbing his lover's back till he relaxed into the warmth, eventually scooting over to the other and settling against his side. Only then would Wilson feel free to get back to sleep.

 _frustration_  
House was a genius – everyone knew that, no matter how hard it was to admit it. He could diagnose most patients with just a glance. He could notice things and connect facts quicker than a human mind should be able to, solving the puzzles that were the people he met in a manner of seconds.

But some puzzles were harder than others. Some patients were dying despite their initial obviousness, and answers eluded House for long days or precious hours.

Wilson loved watching House on those cases, sitting before the whiteboard with seriousness pushing his thoughts towards the answer, frustration keeping him going.

The oncologist would always be nearby, to remind the other to rest, to eat, to move his leg a little. But mostly he would stand in the doorway, on the balcony, in the hall, and watch the older man.

At those times, House was truly beautiful, the will to save a life shining brightly in his whole frame.

At the same time, that light was horrible. It made House seem different than the rest of humanity, different than Wilson. A whole other level than him. Unreachable.

So when Wilson's eyes grew tired and his heart grew troubled, he would move to stand behind House and would wrap his arms around the other's shoulders, embracing him against the difficulty of the puzzle. Making sure House was still within the reach of his arms.

 _barbecue & admitting the truth_  
The first thing that tipped Wilson to the fact that something was up was when he hadn't seen his lover all morning. The second thing was _something_ the ducklings had dragged through the hall, taking great pains not to let the oncologist see what it was. The last thing – the thing that had him running out of the Pediatric Oncology Ward at a break-neck pace towards House's office – was the fact _none_ of his young patients were in their beds.

Wilson burst through the door, staring at the empty office. A quick glance proved the differential room to also be devoid of all living life. The balcony door, despite the blinds being shut and unabling the oncologist from seeing outside, was wide open, a familiar smell and child laughter coming from outside.

Uncertain at what awaited him there, Wilson stepped hesitantly through the door and into the warm sun.

“Welcome to the First Annual Bald Kid Barbeque!” his lover's voice greeted him as he gaped at the sight. Gathered on both balconies, all of his cancer kids were there, and each had either a hot-dog or a hamburger in their hands (Wilson spotted his esophagus cancer patient with a slurpie in his grasp), munching on them eagerly with happy expressions brightening their eyes. The sicker ones had protective masks over their faces, slipping them down only to take a bite or a drink of soda. The ducklings were also there, playing with some of them, their laughter mingling in with that of the kids.

And House stood in the middle of it all, in front of a giant barbeque, in a 'Kiss the Cook' apron and with a spatula to serve the ready meal in his hand, a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

“House, what-”

A small hand tugged suddenly on his sleeve, and he glanced down.

“Dr Wilson, try this! It's yummy!” six-year-old Becky exclaimed, thrusting the hot-dog at him.

With a soft smile, he croached in front of the girl and took a small bite. “It really is.”

The child beamed at him, then skipped to watch Chase loosing a funny-face contest with ten-year-old Billie. Wilson stood up, watching the group of laughing youngsters, then walked over to his lover. “House... what is all this?”

“You getting old on me, Wilson? The First Annual Bald Kid Barbeque.” He loaded a hamburger onto a paper plate and handed it to the oncologist. “Try some. No uppers in it.”

Wilson chuckled, and set the food aside for now. “House. Why?”

“Your bald kids were looking down, thought I'd cheer 'em up.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Really? That's your reason.”

House gave a shrug. “Yeah, well. You love your cancer kids, I love you, I think it's only fair.”

The oncologist took a double take. “What did you say?”

The older man cleared his throat, and kept his eyes on the grill. “Yeah. That.”

Wilson stared some more, blinking owlishly. Then a giant grin rose onto his face. An 'I love you' from House. The words he had never heard, words that he tried not to think about despite having uttered them himself a week into the start of their official relentionship, words he sometimes worried he'd never hear.

He couldn't help standing a little closer to him, pressing their sides together. “I love you too.” he said softly.

“I know.” House muttered, raising the hand with the engagement ring on it.

Wilson chuckled, then leaned towards the other, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

An “Ewwww!!” had them break apart, and House send a smug look at the group of kids snickering at them.

“Jealous?”

“No!” An indignant pout followed the yell.

House grinned, then reached for the meat. “Who wants a burger?”

Standing by his side, Wilson couldn't help his smile from growing.

_indigestion_

Wilson slowly opened the door and walked inside, shutting it behind him. He moved to the bed, and sat down next to the still figure.

“How're you feeling?” he asked, placing a hand on one shoulder.

A loud burp was his only answer.

The oncologist smiled sympathetically, and urged the other to lay on his back. When the diagnostician obeyed, he hiked up his shirt and lay a warm towel over his stomach. “My mom said this should help.”

House kept his eyes closed, but sighed. “I already took something.”

“If you hadn't stuffed yourself on my mom's cooking to the point of indigestion you wouldn't need any. Hell, if you had paced yourself in inhaling dinner you wouldn't need any.”

“Then tell your mother she should never again set foot in the kitchen.” he belched again and groaned. “I could sue your mother for making food that could rival drugs.”

The younger doctor raised an eyebrow. “Rival drugs?”

“As irresistible and as bad with the aftereffects.”

“Gluttony will do that to you.”

“I am only a glutton when your mother cooks.”

“How about that time you ate too much pancakes and spent an hour throwing them back up later?”

“You _made_ too much pancakes. I wasn't going to let that heavenly taste go to waste.” A burp. “Worth it though, both then and now.”

Wilson chuckled, and leaned down to kiss his lover's forehead. “Take a nap.”

“That another Jewish miracle remedy?”

“Take a nap, and when you wake up I'll drive us home, and you can be miserable in our own bed.”

“With you?”

Wilson smiled. “With me.”

“Night, then.”

_rude interruption_

[First Time]

House leaned against Wilson, laying his head on his shoulder with a deep sigh.

“Something wrong?” the oncologist asked, looking down at him.

“I want to go home, and drink myself out of the boredom of this place.” the diagnostician muttered, a disgruntled expression on his face.

“You sound like an alcoholic.”

House gave him a pointed look, a little smirk playing at him lips. “Who says I'd be drinking alcohol?”

Wilson chuckled, blushing slightly, and lifted his arm, intending to put it around the other's shoulders, when Chase walked in.

“We found a case.”

House groaned, glaring at the Australian for a moment, then moved away from the other, walking swiftly through the door.

Wilson watched him go.

[Second Time]

Wilson chuckled to himself when House barged into his office, and sat before him on the desk, pushing his stuff to the side.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, raising an amused ayebrow at the other.

“I believe it's the other way around.” the diagnostician answered in a mysterious voice.

“Oh?”

“Yup.” House leaned closer. “You have something on your lips.”

“A limping twerp?” Wilson smirked, laying his hand on the back of the other's neck.

“Yup.” the older man grinned at him, and was just about to connect their lips when Wilson's office door opened, Foreman's head peaking in.

“We got the results.”

For a moment Wilson thought House was going to throw something at the duckling, judging by his expression, but the older man only huffed out an annoyed breath and got up.

“See you at home.” the oncologist called after his retreating lover, then sighed himself.

[Third Time]

House was sitting on the couch, hands resting on Wilson's waist while the oncologist kneeled above him, knees on either side of the older man's hips. Their lips were connected in a searing kiss, tongues tangling together in an intimate battle for dominance, mapping out the insides of both their mouths heatedly.

The diagnostician moved his hands towards the other's bottom, kneeding the cloth-covered globes firmly as Wilson pressed closer, breaking the kiss to release a loud moan.

House grinned, face flushed and erection straining against his boxers. He brought their lips back together, thrusting his tongue against the other's. He could feel Wilson's hand fisting in his hair, pressing their mouths harder together.

House released one soft buttock, his hand traveling to the front of the oncologist's pants, pulling teasingly on the button.

Loud knocking sounded from the door.

Both doctors broke apart, staring at each other in surprise.

“Ignore it.” Wilson ordered, leaning towards his lover.

“House, it's me!” Cameron's voice followed another set of loud knocks, and House's lip twitched, his expression darkening.

The diagnostician lifted his hands, covering Wilson's ears tightly as he glared in the direction of the door. “IF YOU'RE STILL THERE BY THE END OF THIS SENTENCE, YOU'RE FIRED AND I'LL MAKE SURE YOU'RE PUT ON A BLACK LIST IN EVERY HOSPITAL IN ALL FIFTY STATES!!”

He waited a full minute to make sure she was really gone before removing his hands, his head rolling back with a sigh of relief.

“I think you over-reacted.” Wilson muttered, tilting his head to the side.

“Shut up.” House send him a small glare, then closed his eyes. “Now I really need a drink.”

Wilson gave a sad smile and got up. “We can both use a beer.” But a strong hand on his wrist stopped him from taking another step.

“Who said anything about beer?” House asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Wilson blushed, and followed the other to the bedroom.

 _uninvited_  
Their wedding had been in a park. It was small, barely ten or so people from both grooms' sides. Blythe had sat with Wilson's parents, and he was more then sure both ladies had been crying.

John had spent the entire ceremony standing behind a tree, hidden from sight.

He hadn't been invited. After he nearly broke his son's arm when he found out who he was marrying it was perfectly understandable he wouldn't be welcomed.

He knew he had been and still was a horrible father, but somehow, only Blythe's name on the invitation had hurt.

His son looked so different, dressed in a tux, with a small bow-tie around his neck. He still hadn't shaved, but his hair seemed less out of control than the last time he had seen him. But it was the fact that he was smiling that made the biggest difference.

As he watched, he had tried to remember if Greg had ever smiled like that before. He hadn't, not around him. The images of his son's face made him sick – wide blue eyes, filled with tears, hurt or fear, both in the child and the adult. Always when they were fixed on him.

He swallowed around the bile in his throat, then focused back on the ceremony, on his smiling son.

He was a horrible father, he knew that. But he was still glad his son was happy.

_fireplace & anniversary_

He decided to do it on their first anniversary. He had gone to the storage he rented after the failure of his first marriage and cleaned it out of all things that reminded him of all three women, and had the stuff taken to the nearest junkyard. Only a set of certain objects survived the carnage.

He then bundled House up and drove them up to the mountain cabin he had rented just for the occasion.

After a quiet dinner filled with calm, friendly banter, Wilson had sat his husband in front of the fireplace and retrieved the items he had saved before. He let House thumb through the photo albums, watching as the man went through pictures of weddings and the happy periods of each marriage. Then, in full view of the diagnostician, he took each picture out and threw it into the fire, the album following once empty. House watched him with an unreadable expression which slowly turned into a smile, watching as Wilson literaly burned away the marks each wife left on him, leaving him open for one husband.

Only one picture survived the fire – of Wilson and House, drunk and grinning, standing hand in hand, fingers brushing gently. The only memory Wilson wanted to keep.

 _pregnancy_  
Wilson woke up, eyes wide with the images of his dream still fresh in them. He turned his head to the side, his gaze landing on his lover's sleeping face. He lingered on the peaceful features for a long moment, then sat up, eyes falling onto the other's middle.... _belly rounded with life, skin stretching with small kicks felt from within_...

He slid lower, laying his hands against the older man's abdomen, quickly pulling both blanket and shirt away to reveal the shapely muscles. He trailed his hands over them, pressing gently against the flesh as he watched in amazement, his dream still oh so fresh in his mind.

“Wha' are you doin'?” A sleepy voice murmured from above him and Wilson glanced up, smiling at his lover's sleepily confused face.

“I had a dream.” he said, placing a soft kiss to the skin under his palms. “You were pregnant.”

“I was what now?” House blinked at him in bewilderment.

“You were beautiful, so big with our child.” Wilson said in a dreamy voice. He kissed the other's navel, then covered the abdomen with the blanket, moving up to pull House into a strong embrace.

The diagnostician blinked, then sighed sadly. That was one thing he could not give his husband. “Wilson...”

“What do you say to a kid of our own?” The oncologist asked, kissing the other lightly.

“Wilson, I can't get pregnant, yah know.” House murmured, rubbing the younger man's back.

“I know that.” Wilson chuckled quietly, nuzzling his husband's hair. “I'm asking about a kid.”

“...I'm cool with it.”

The younger man's smile could put the sun to shame. “Great. I'll look for an adoption agency tomorrow.” Another sweet kiss. “'Night. Love you.”

“Me too.” House muttered, resting his head against Wilson's chest with a smile. A kid of their own, huh? The thought really was alluring.

He closed his eyes and slept, dreams filled with smiling infants and pregnant Wilsons.

 _misunderstanding_  
Wilson heaved a relieved sigh as his last patient of the day left. He stretched, his back popping loudly under the motion. Ten more minutes, and he'd be at home, watching TV and drinking beer on the couch with House. Well, maybe fifteen.

As his doors flew open violently, he threw that prediction out the window.

He blinked in surprise when the three ducklings filed into his office. He'd've thought it would be House making that sort of entrance, but maybe the older doctor was rubbing off on them.

Then again, House never glared at him with that much anger, arms crossed over chest times three and all that.

The oncologist was just opening his mouth to inquire about the abrupt visit, when the ducklings spoke.

“We know what you're doing.” Chase said.

“We've seen you.” Foreman agreed. “And we don't like it.”

“We've told him.” Cameron chimed in, her glare capable of freezing Hell itself. “How could you?”

Wilson's confusion grew by the minute. “What are you talking about?” He paused. “And what exactly did you tell House?” There was no doubt in his mind he was the source of their sudden protectiveness. Watching someone get shot would do that to people.

“We told him about your true colors.”

Wilson glanced at his blue shirt.

Foreman rolled his eyes, while Chase huffed. “About your little _affair_.”

“My WHAT?!”

“Don't try to deny it!” Cameron practically growled at him, hands on her hips. “We saw you.”

Stay calm, breathe deeply, don't throttle them, don't think of the damage they caused. “What exactly did you see?”

“A very attractive woman leaving your office, you escorting her to the elevator.”

 _Don't_ kill them. “Have any of you paused to think it could have been a _patient_ of mine?!”

“We did.” Being glared at was getting annoying. “But then we considered both of you were flushed and looked tired we figured some... physical exertion came into the equation.”

Flushed? When had he been flushe- Oh yeah, he probably was then. “And you told House what exactly?”

“That you're a two-timing bastard.” Cameron answered crisply, and Wilson whirled around, looking out across the balcony. House's office blinds were shut.

“You _morons_! You have any idea what you've done?!” he yelled, trying to bypass them, but they blocked the door.

“Oh no. We are not going to let you fool around with whoever you want, and break his heart! We, unlike you, care for him!” Cameron sounded so righteous he had the sudden urge to punch her.

Wilson glared at them for a few useless minutes, then turned to the balcony door, locking it behind himself so they couldn't follow.

He quickly crossed the small wall, and thanked every deity possible House hadn't locked his door as he barged in, throwing himself at the office and differential doors and locking both.

He pulled the blinds shut just for good measure, and only then did he turn to the other man.

House was sitting by his desk, watching him with sad, confused eyes. Then the emotions were masked and he gave a small smile. “This is where you have you wicked way with me?”

Wilson ignored the joke, fearing the extend of the damage hidden in those eyes. “House.” He took a step closer, then paused. “They were wrong. I never-”

“It's fine, Wilson.” House interrupted him, waving his hand as he leaned back in his chair. “It's not like it's something horrible.”

“House...”

“It's your nature, I guess. You always went for women, the needier the better.” House wasn't looking at him when he said that, so he didn't notice the growing look of horror on his face. The diagnostician bit his lip thoughtfully, a troubled expression settling on his features, then shook his head. “It's really fine. No need to apologize.”

Wilson felt like crying. Of course House wouldn't believe him. It was understandable, considering his past, yet somehow it still stung, knowing that House would always believe Wilson was capable of going back to women.

Then he paused, light dawning. House wasn't believing him, because he hadn't let him explain. No explanation = no hurt = blissful ignorance.

He closed his eyes briefly, then walked over to the other man, pulling his chair to the side so that he'd face him, then dropped to his knees.

House blinked at him in confusion, then flinched when Wilson lay his hands on his thigh. “Wha-”

“The woman they saw was Inger.” Wilson said, slowly starting to move his fingers over the damaged muscle, pressing down in just the right places. House tensed briefly, apprehension in his eyes, but he soon melted, head rolling forward as his eyes closed.

Wilson smiled softly, and continued with the explanation. “I've been having private sessions with her for two months now.” House tensed, but Wilson ignored that and continued. “I wanted to learn how to properly ease up muscle spasms.”

The diagnostician blinked in confusion. “You-”

“I got a little selfish and I wanted to be the one to massage out the pain on bad days, not Inger. So I asked her to teach me.” He chuckled to himself. “It's not as easy as it looks, you know. I could barely feel my arms after the first two lessons. It's real hard work.”

House kept quiet, delivering no scathing remark about his technique, his blue eyes searching Wilson's face.

The oncologist continued. “One day, I didn't have enough time to get to her studio on time between biopsies and patients. I managed to scratch out an hour for practice and asked her to come over to my office for the next lesson. I didn't know your minions saw me walking her to the elevator and misunderstood the situation.”

“...Why didn't you tell me?”

A soft smile. “I wanted to surprise you.” Wilson cleared his throat. “She recommended me this book about intimate massages. I wanted to tell you by giving you one on your birthday.” He paused. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

House was quiet once again, watching as Wilson's fingers moved against his thigh. After long moments, he lifted his hand and lay it upon the other's, clanking their wedding rings together.

“Doesn't hurt at all.” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the younger man's forehead. “But tell me next time, okay?”

Wilson didn't know which 'next time' he meant – next appointment with Inger or next time cheating. He closed his eyes, and placed a gentle kiss to House's lips. “I swear to you, I will never ever cheat on you. You're the neediest person I know, Greg. I'd take your silent brooding over any crying woman anytime.”

House laughed softly at his own argument used against him, and wrapped his arms around his husband's neck, drawing him tightly to his chest. “Okay.” He closed his eyes. “I believe you.”

Wilson returned the embrace just as tightly, kissing House's cheek. He was glad he managed to get House's forgiveness, but he also knew it would take a lot of time to prove his fidelity and to dispell the insecurities he knew lurked in House's heart. He didn't mind proving he loved him, though. He'd happily spend the rest of his life proving it to the man.

As soon as he murdered three annoying ducklings.

_bedroom fantasy_

House's long fingers danced slowly across the keys, soft music surrounding them, mingling with their deep breaths and enveloping them in a calming haze.

The long digits stumbled from time to time, pausing when they accidently hit the wrong key, but Wilson kissed House's neck reassuringly each time, rubbing his thighs in slow circles to soothe the frustrated trembling of those fine hands, the lean body.

Wilson shifted under the weight of the diagnostician sitting on his lap, rolling his hips gently.

House's hands hit the keys in a violent note, shivering as they rested there, crooked with tension.

The oncologist pressed a lingering kiss to the older man's shoulder blade, sliding his palms up over the naked chest lightly, smiling when he felt the other's body relaxing.

“Keep playing.” he whispered, shifting again. “Play for me.”

The older man groaned, his fingers twitching against the keys, producing three more notes before stopping again. He let out a shuddery breath, a hoarse “Move...” making it past his lips.

Wilson nodded, shifting again. “Play. For me.”

And once again House obeyed, his fingers dancing across the keys once more. Wilson smiled at the music, then let his hand drop lower, wrapping it around his husband's shaft, already hard and leaking. He pumped the organ slowly, sliding his palm up and down with a teasing squeeze, relishing in the moan House let out and the hitch in the melody. He gently shifted his hips again, thrusting his erection once more into House's willing body, pushing in deeper than he already was.

This had been his secret fantasy. Whenever he had seen House sitting in front of his piano, playing whatever music matched his mood, he had been plagued with images of House sitting _on_ him, riding him as he played, playing for him as his body was pleasured from behind.

The older man had forced the confession out of him during one drunken evening, between sucking on his ear lobe and licking down his neck. House had chuckled at the admition, called him a closet perv then proceeded to kiss down his body to satisfy a different kind of hunger.

In the morning after, House hadn't said a word about it, and Wilson had easily assumed the alcohol had erased that memory. He had kept that assumption till that day, all the way up from his return from work.

But as soon as he had opened the door, as soon as he had stepped into the livingroom, he knew his assumption had been wrong. Because there was House, sitting stark naked in front of his piano, playing a soft tune as he smiled at Wilson, beckoning him closer with an inviting smirk, a bottle of lube already standing on the lid.

So there he was now, sitting on the piano bench, House in his lap, his cock deep inside the older man as he played (or tried to play), thrusting up in gentle shifts, not wanting to jar his bad leg too much. He was making slow, kinky love to his husband, sitting right in the middle of his very own fantasy, grinning like a fool when the older man's breathing hitched in a moan.

There was no place he would've prefered to be. And he doubted there would be one. Ever.

_laundry_

“It's not so bad.”

“House, shut up.”

“Come on, we're going to laugh at this tomorrow.”

“Am I laughing now?”

“...you told me to do it.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I told you to mangle our clothes. Of course, it's my fault!”

“...I'll buy you some new ones.”

“That's not the point.”

“Look, I know you're pissed, but it really was you who nagged me to do this for the past month.”

A sigh. “Fine. I agree I wanted you to do it, but I wasn't aware I needed to point out that you were supposed to use your BRAIN WHILE DOING IT!!”

“...I told you I didn't know how.”

A long stare, followed by a defeated drop of shoulders. “Okay. Lesson one – separate _all_ colours from the whites!”

 _horror movie_  
House unlocked the door, walking into the dark apartment.

“Wilson?” he called, trying to locate his husband. “Wilson?”

He found the light switch, turning it on, and nearly screamed when he saw the oncologist, standing in the middle of the room with a bat raised above his head.

He was just about to crack a joke when he noticed the fear etched onto the younger man's face.

“Wilson? What's wrong?”

The other man stared at him, and his body literally sagged in relief, the bat falling to the ground with a clatter. “Oh, thank God you're here.” Wilson muttered, crossing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around the other's frame, pressing close.

House blinked. “I called, yah know.”

Wilson opened his eyes wide at that. “That was _you_?!” He gave a small laugh. “I nearly had a heart attack when it started ringing.”

“Okay, could you enlighten me why you're giving yourself a stroke from fear?”

“I, um... I watched this movie.”

House blinked, staring at the other man incredulously. “A movie.” he repeated.

“Yeah.” He gave a small laugh. “It was about this little girl and a tape.”

House groaned. “And let me guess – just when it ended, the phone rang.”

“Uh-huh.”

The older man nodded. “Great.” He wasn't really sure how to deal with a freaked-out Wilson. He glanced down at the younger man, and started rubbing soothing circles over his back.

“You are aware I'm so going to mock your ass over this tomorrow.”

Wilson nodded against his shoulder. “I know.”

“Just checking.” House muttered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, allowing the oncologist to take comfort from his pressence for now.

_M &Ms_

The doors to his office flew open, an angry looking Wilson stomping into the room. House only had time to merely blink before Wilson was leaning over his desk, the brown eyes hard as they stared into his own.

House cocked his head to the side with a small smirk. “Hi, Wilson.”

The oncologist pursed his lips. “Give them back.”

“I wasn't aware you lost something.” House continued to smirk, stampling his fingers together. “Was it something important?”

“Don't play dumb.” Wilson hissed. “I know you did it, and I have no patience for this.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

Wilson huffed in annoyance and leaned closer. “You replaced my Skittles with M&Ms.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving the un-opened pack and throwing them onto the desk. “I want them back.”

House stared at the pack with a curious expression, then back at Wilson. “Job getting to you?”

“You know damn well how hard it is now.” With the new patients and the incoming board assessments, everyone has been feeling rather at-the-end-of-the-rope. “Give. Them. Back.”

It was House's turn to purse his lips, in frustration. He continued to stare at the younger man, trying to explain without saying anything why he did that.

Thankfully, Wilson seemed to understand the silent message and sagged, dropping into the chair. “If you missed me you should've just told me.” he muttered, rubbing at his face.

House remained silent.

Wilson sighed. “Just two more days, and I promise we'll go to that new Mexican Restaurant you found last week.”

It wasn't as good as getting to spend some time with his husband right then, but he'd count it as a win.

He reached into his drawer and took out the pack of Skittles, handing them wordlessly over to the younger man, expecting him to grab them and leave.

Instead, he blinked in surprise when Wilson opened the pack and offered some to him with a soft smile.

House smiled back as he reached to take some.

_brush with fame_

House kicked the door close behind him with a tired sigh, throwing his jacket carelessly to the floor. He made his way to the living room, then stopped dead when he noticed what Wilson was watching.

“Where... did you get that... monstrosity?” he asked in a strained voice, lip twitching.

Wilson glanced at him with an amused smile. “From Cuddy.” He chuckled. “Did Patch Addams really make you want to be a doctor?”

House growled, moving to the DVD and reaching to remove the disc.

Wilson was by his side and taking a firm hold of his arms in an instant. “I want you to see something.” he said, having to practically force House to sit on the couch. “You'll destroy it later.” he promised, fast forwarding to the desired scene, while still keeping a hold on the older man.

The diagnostician twisted in his grasp, trying to free himself. “Do you find this amusing?” he hissed.

Wilson glanced at him, then let go, moving behind the couch so that he could wrap his arms around his husband's tense frame. “I just want you to see one scene. It's not to humiliate you, I swear.”

Begrudgingly, House gave one quick nod, and Wilson pressed play.

“ _Is there anything else?”_

“ _Thank you, dr. House. Thank you.”_

House blinked, then turned his head to the side, facing away from the oncologist.

Wilson smiled softly at him, and pressed a kiss to the older man's neck, hitting the pause button. “See, Greg? You're a good doctor.” He nuzzled the sensitive spot just behind the other's ear. “People like you, eventually.”

House pursed his lips, face otherwise blank.

“May I keep the movie? I promise not to watch it anywhere near you.”

A suspicious glance was thrown in his direction.

“And not to tease you about it.”

House curled his lip, and glanced at the smiling kid on the screen. “Fine.”

Wilson smiled, and tilted the other's head back so he could plant a soft kiss to his lips.

His House was a shy one.

 _paternal_  
House couldn't look away from the tiny body laying in the carrier on the coffee table. He was gently trailing a finger over the soft locks adorning the small head, taking in all of the details of the little face, memorizing them, checking for familiarities.

A soft sound and large brown eyes opened, blinking sleepily at him, a big yawn coming forth as a tiny fist rubbed at those big eyes.

House couldn't help a chuckle at that.

He didn't look up when the door opened, knowing it was Wilson returning from a quick trip to the hospital with the blood sample.

“I got the DNA results.” the oncologist said, lifting an unopened envelope. “I thought we'd better check them together.”

“Don't bother.” House mumbled absently, crossing his eyes and getting a gurgle in return.

“Huh? You don't want to know?” Wilson rubbed his neck, coming closer and looking down at the tiny piece of humanity.

“He has your eyes.” the diagnostician said, smiling when the baby took his finger hostage, squeezing tightly.

“I guess he does.” Wilson nodded, looking at the older man. Suddenly, he leaned down, cupping the side of House's head and tilting it up for a soft kiss. “Hous-”

But he was interrupted. “Can we keep him?”

Wilson blinked in surprise, expecting anger or betrayal to shine in those blue eyes. Instead he thought he saw a small glint of acceptance and – dare he say it? – happiness.

He glanced down into the carrier, then smiled softly at the other man. “Yeah, I think we can.”

It didn't matter how he came to the world nor that they found him on their doorstep with a 'it's yours, you deal with it' letter to Wilson attached to his sweater – he was theirs now. Their own baby.

_follow-up to paternal_

Cuddy stared at the man sitting before her desk. She blinked at him in bewilderment, then shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“You found a baby on your doorstep and you decided to keep it.” she said, summing up what was just said.

“And we'd like you to be the Godmother. Only in name though, considering I'm Jewish and House is House, but I assumed you wouldn't mind.”

She blinked at him again. “Is the kid even yours?”

“I doubt it.”

She tilted her head to the side. “That implies you're not so sure. Wilson, you've been with House for four years now. How could you?”

“There was that conference you had me go to.” Wilson said, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Don't try to pin this one on me.”

“I'm not. Anyway, I got really drunk one evening, and I vaguely remember a woman being there.” he paused, then shook his head. “Anyway, I woke up in my room in just my socks in the morning, but I was alone.”

“And you didn't think something might have happened?” she stared at him, then sighed. “Did you at least tell that to House?”

“I told him the day I returned.”

“And?”

“He said either I stop drinking when he's not there or he's putting me on a leash.”

She couldn't help a chuckle. Typical House. “So you didn't check if he's yours.”

“I did a test when we found him.”

“And?”

“We hadn't read the results.” he held up his hand, halting her next question. “I had the maternity ward put my name on the birth certificate anyway though, so the end result is the same as five minutes ago – he's our son.”

“This is a big decision.”

“We've been thinking about a baby for some time now.” Wilson gave her a soft smile. “We know what we're doing.”

She stared at him for a moment, then smiled. She stood up, walking around the desk and pulled the oncologist into a bear hug. “I'd love to be his Godmother.”

Wilson returned the gesture. “That's great.” They pulled apart, still smiling. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Of course.” She glanced outside her office. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He's with House in the clinic. He thought it'd be funny to try to make the nurses believe he went through a male pregnancy.”

She sighed fondly. “Let's go before Brenda decides to kill him.”

Wilson chuckled, following her out the door.

 _grandparents_  
House glanced at the door when he heard knocking. Probably Wilson, arms filled with so many baby stuff he couldn't get the door. Again.

House looked at the baby to make sure he was fine for the moment, then slowly got to his feet.

“That Poppa of yours is gonna get us broke in no time.” he muttered as he made his way to the door.

It wasn't his husband on the other side though.

House stared at his father, his grip on the door knob turning his knuckles white. He hadn't seen his father since the man had tried to smash his face in for being gay. The possibility of a similar purpose to the visit turned his gut to ice, more so when he thought of the baby sleeping in the livingroom.

Even his father wouldn't hurt a baby. Right?

John cleared his throat suddenly, startling the diagnostician from his thoughts.

“Greg. You're looking well.” He really did – he'd filled out more on Wilson's cooking.

Other than nodding, House didn't reply.

John cleared his throat again, and decided to get straight to the point. “Blythe told me you two have a kid now.”

Another nod, followed by awkward silence.

The older man swallowed, hesitating briefly. “May I see him?”

House blinked, regarding the other for a long time. Then, he cautiously turned around and made his way to the living room.

If his father wanted to kill him, he'd have done it by now. Although, just to be on the safe side, he sent a quick text to Wilson, telling him to hurry his ass up before he gathered the kid into his arms gently.

The baby gave a soft coo, and big brown eyes opened, focusing on his parent. House rocked him slowly, trying to get him to close his eyes again, but the baby glanced around himself, waking further up.

Hoping this wouldn't be too traumatic for him, House slowly limped towards the door.

John stared at the baby in silence, drinking in each feature of the tiny face. After long moments, he reached into his pocket and took out a soft, rather battered-looking toy.

House stared at the stuffed airplane, the familiarity of it confusing him slightly.

He looked up when John cleared his throat once more.

“This was yours, when you were little.” he muttered, and lay the toy on the baby's chest. “I thought... he should have it.”

House was too bewildered to do anything other than stare at his father with his mouth hanging open. John took one last look at the baby, now chewing happily on one wing, then nodded to himself, turning around and walking to the cab.

House watched the car disappearing around the corner, before he finally shook his head to clear away his shock. He blinked, then glanced down at his son.

When his gaze landed on the toy, he couldn't contain a soft smile.

“That was your grandpa, yah know.” he muttered, turning around and closing the door behind them.

_drowsy_

When Wilson woke up in the middle of the night, confused for long moments when crying wasn't resounding in the apartment. Which was odd, because Zach still got hungry every two hours. And still young enough to just slip away during sleep.

Frowning with worry, he climbed out of the bed, not noticing he had been alone in it. He padded over to the nursery, peering worriedly into the crib.

It was empty.

He blinked, and probably would've panicked if the soft sounds of the piano hadn't reached his ears.

Not knowing what else to do, he followed the sounds to the living room, and breathed a sound of relief.

House was sitting by the piano, playing a soft tune with one hand. He had the other arm wrapped loosely around Zach, securing the tiny body against his abdomen and lap. His hand was keeping a bottle of milk steady as their son ate his fill.

House was blinking drowsily at the keys, yawning, and glancing at the baby from time to time.

Wilson smiled softly, and when he noticed House hadn't spotted him, he moved on silent feet to retrieve the camera. He carefully readied the angle and hit the release button, the small flash catching House's attention with a small delay.

“You takin' my picture again?” he asked quietly, the soft music stopping as he rubbed at his eyes.

Zach let go of his bottle long enough to make an unhappy coo, his little face scrunching up in what both parents recognized as preparation for an ear-shattering wail.

House hastily reached back to the keys, their son quieting and returning to his meal after barely two notes.

“He does that each time I stop playing.” House sighed, his head hanging low.

“You couldn't sleep before and that's why you got to him before I woke up, didn't you?” Wilson asked softly as he sat down next to the other on the bench.

“Thought I'd let you sleep.” House gave another mighty yawn, tilting his head to the side so that he could rest it on Wilson's shoulder. “He's got to sleep sometime.”

The younger man smiled at his husband, and gently lay his hand on the baby's head, petting the soft hair soothingly.

Zach finally fell asleep fifteen minutes later, cooing quietly in sleep. Wilson smiled at his son and glanced at House, then did a double take. House was also asleep, his fingers still resting against the keys, twitching occasionally.

Damn, and the camera was all the way over there...

_paint the town red_

House stared at his husband, currently rocking their slumbering son. The baby looked so content lying in his parent's arms, safe from all harm, too young to worry about anything other than food or sleep.

At the same time, it was astounding how something so tiny could demand so much attention from them. Especially during the night. Another mystery – where the hell did he hide the sheer volume in those miniature lungs of his? He had wanted to do an MRI to check if maybe infants had some additional pockets in there to give them some extra air, but Wilson had laughed at the idea.

Not his fault he couldn't leave a puzzle alone.

Though now he had another puzzle on his mind. Wilson, family man extraordinaire, who managed to end each family life he had in a rather spectacular divorce. Now he had a new marriage and a new family life.

It was definitely more complicated with a baby. They couldn't even go out now, no more 'paint the town red' nights, no more going to the movies, a bar or the occasional theatre Wilson decided to drag him to either. And even their quiet evenings in front of the TV with take-out were history, replaced with changing diapers, preparing the formula and calming down a screaming infant. True, when the baby stopped trying to melt their eardrums, they both played with him, but it was always for only several minutes before he fell asleep.

House cocked his head to the side. Wilson looked tired. They both were. Taking care of a baby was hard work, after all. It took nearly all of their time, and they both had work to get back to in a few weeks. Was Wilson regretting it now? It was the diagnostician that had first asked to keep the kid, after all.

Was he still willing to be with them?

But then Wilson lifted his head, and looked at him, a soft smile lighting up his entire face.

House smiled back, the answer to his puzzle evident – though it was tiring, hard, complicated, the short pauses between the endless responsibilities were enough. The moments when Zach was calm and playful were enough. It was enough for them.

Wilson was happy. And so was he.

_supermarket tabloids_

Wilson sighed as he hefted the basket of laudry to the bathroom. He paused when he passed Zach's room, cocking his head as he listened to his husband's voice drift from within. Or more importantly the words that were spoken.

He set the basket down and opened the door. “What are you doing?” he asked with a frown.

House looked up at him, scoffing slightly. “You're the one who kept lecturing me about the importance of reading to kids.”

“Yeah, but I never thought you'd take it to heart and read him- is that a supermarket tabloid?”

“I thought we'd both get something out of it.” House shrugged. He smirked when the baby in his lap suddenly pushed at the paper in his grasp. “See? He likes it.”

Wilson sighed heavily, and moved to his husband, taking the tabloid from him and handing him one of the books from the shelf. “He'll like this too.”

House gave him a look.

“Read this or go do the laudry.”

“Remember what happened last time?”

“Or you can go clean up the living room.”

The diagnostician sighed and took the book.

Wilson smiled in triumpth, and walked back to the basket, staying a little longer by the door, just to make sure.

“The Little Red Riding Hood. Don't look so happy, kiddo, this story sucks, believe me.” A short pause. “But I can tell you how the Not-so-Little Red Riding Wilson met the Big Bad House.”

The oncologist chuckled to himself and went to get himself a chair. This was one story he couldn't miss.

_I'll miss you & phone call_

“Flight 5, now boarding at Gate 11. I repeat – Flight 5, now boarding at Gate 11.”

“That's mine.” Wilson muttered, getting up and hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. He glanced at his silent companion. “You sure you'll be okay?”

“You'll be back in three days. I'm sure I can manage not to burn down the apartment till you get back.” House said, shifting Zach to face his Poppa. “And I'll make sure he doesn't either.” He made a face at their son, and the baby giggled.

Wilson chuckled. “Okay, okay. Just remember, the-”

“The nanny's number is by the phone. The formula is in the fridge. The extra diapers are in the closet.” House recited in an exasperated tone. “I know, you've told me over ten times.”

“Right.” the oncologist paused, assesing his little family. Come to think of it, that conference wasn't even that important. True, he had been telling the other about it for the past week, but it wasn't that important. “I can stay if you-”

“Wilson. Get your ass on that plane.” The diagnostician told him firmly.

The oncologist nodded in defeat and bent down to kiss the baby's head softly. “Be good, Zachy.”

“Gah!”

Wilson smiled, then planted a soft kiss onto his husband's lips. “I'll miss you.” he whispered against the soft skin before pulling away.

House was silent, just looking at him with a warm expression.

Wilson smiled at him, then took a deep breath. “Call me everyday, okay?”

“The plane's not going to wait.” House said in a song-song voice.

“Promise.”

House sighed. “I promise, you overreacting Jewish Mamma.”

Wilson chuckled, and reluctantly turned to leave. “Bye House, bye Zach.”

“Bye Poppa.” House waved their son's hand. “See yah in three days.”

Wilson waved back, and made his way to Gate 11.

He was standing in the line when his phone rang. He took it out, and his heart dropped when the caller ID was House's.

“What is it? What's wrong?” he asked as soon as the phone was near his ear.

There was silence on the other line for a moment, then he heard a husky “So what are you wearing right now?”

The people around him looked at him strangely when he laughed.

_difficult decision_

“That's torture!”

“It is not!”

“Fine, borderline torture. But my point is still valid.”

“It is not. My proposition is better.”

“It's stupid and disgusting. My idea is way better!”

“Nonsense! I consulted my mother on this, so I know I'm right.”

“Of course the Momma Jew knows best.”

“Must I remind you how you praised my mother's cooking last time?”

“Must I remind you the decision is ours to make, _not_ your mother's?”

“And I made the decision!”

“So I don't have a say in this?”

“Did you even consult anyone on this?”

“I read two books, but I recon since I hadn't asked my mother to tell me what to do, my opinion doesn't count!”

“I asked her for advice!”

“And you're ignoring me! Your husband!”

“Enough! I'm putting my foot down and that's final!”

“Fine! Do it your way.”

/Some time later/

“BLEH!”

“...that's an interesting green puddle, don't you think Jimmy?”

“Shut up, and help me clean this up.”

“Do I have to say 'I told you so'?”

A heavy sigh. “Fine, you win. We'll start with mashed carrots, then we'll try broccoli again.”

“Won't make a difference. They're gonna end up right back on the floor, won't they Zach?”

“Gah!”

“See? We win.”

A chuckle.

_hot dog & old flame_

Julie Henderson was just going into a book store, to get that new romance novel she had seen the other day, when she bumped into someone.

She immediately backed away slightly, apologizing when she froze, her eyes widening.

“James...?”

“Hello, Julie. Surprise meeting you here.”

James Wilson looked amazing. The same boyish face, the same gentle smile. He was wearing casual clothes, and she had to admit it only added to his charm. Only his eyes looked different – still softly brown, but they now seemed... brighter.

“How have you been?”

It took her a moment to realize she was being spoken to. “Oh, I'm fine, thanks.” Still so polite. What had possessed her to lose this man? Seeing him now only seemed to awaken feeling she had long thought lost. “And you?”

He lifted his left hand, his face lighting up in a way it never did around her. “Happily married.”

Oh. No surprise there, but knowing James there was still a chance. He had never been one for fidelity. “Congratulations. Who's the lucky woman?” she asked, smiling sweetly and rolling her hips slightly.

Suddenly a small figure run out of the book store, and lunged at them, attaching itself to James' sleeve. “Poppa, Poppa! Look, there! Hot dogs! Hot dogs, hot dogs, hot dogs!”

Before James could answer, another hand, this time much larger, fell on his shoulder, a matching ring on its finger. Julie held in a gasp, her body stiffening in shock when she recognized who it was attached to.

“Yeah, Jimmy! Hot dogs, hot dogs, hot dogs!” House grinned at the oncologist, mirroring the child.

James flashed her an apologetic smile, and turned briefly to the pair. “Your Daddy will buy them for us.” Did he just say 'Daddy'?

House winced, and the child pouted.“But Poppa buys better ones!”

“Zach, be nice and I'll make us some Macadamia nut pancakes for supper.”

Both of their eyes lit up. “Promise?” they asked simultaneously.

James chuckled. “Cross my heart.”

The child cheered, and to her utter disbelief latched onto House's hand. “C'mon, Daddy! Hot dogs!”

House turned to her for the first time, grinning smugly. “See yah, Jules.” And he allowed the child to drag him towards the hot dog vendor.

She couldn't help gawking at the pair, then slowly turned stunned eyes to her ex.

He grinned at her sheepishly, rubbing at his neck. “As you can see, I have my hands full.”

“You... and House... together?” Did she just squeak?

“Uh-huh. They say fourth time's the charm.”

Shouldn't that me third time? And her?

“Poppa!”

“Jimmy! I left my wallet at home!”

“If you'll excuse me, I have two children to save.” James chuckled softly, and stepped around her, hugging her briefly. “It was great seeing you again, Julie. Take care.”

“Bye...” Still stunned, she watched him go, and pay for those blasted hot dogs. He didn't even offer to meet again sometime... then it hit her – James, her James... with House. And they had a son...

She suddenly felt the urge to sit down. Right now, on the sidewalk if she had to.

 _//unpleasant//_  
“Goodmorni- oh, it's you.” Doctor Ubbershvain grimaced as he entered Exam Room Three and found not a patient, but the hospital's head oncologist. “What do you want?”

“Did you talk to my son recently?”

“Yeah, so?” The doctor curled his lip in disgust. “The kid should know what kind of... beasts you two are.”

A punch to his jaw slammed him into a wall, followed shortly by a knee to his gut, forcing the air right out of him. A hands fisted in his shirt, twisting in the material sharply, his collar digging into his neck painfully. The oncologist used the grip to slam him back into the wall.

“If you ever again come near my family or start spouting that homophobic crap anywhere near my son, I will make you wish you were never born.” He leaned closer, his rage-filled eye boring into his. “Don't test me.”

Ubbershvain was slammed into the wall one more time, then released, the enraged encologist leaving him to curl around his middle on the floor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wilson walked into House's office, pausing by the doorway as he took in the scene.

House was sitting in his chair, their six-year-old son sniffling on his lap, cradled against his dad's chest. House was staring at the younger man, the anger still fresh in his eyes, his large hand rubbing soothing circles over the small back.

The oncologist walked closer to the pair, and kneeled next to the chair, carding his fingers through his son's soft hair. “Hey. It's okay, Poppa took care on that unpleasant man.”

Zach sniffled again, turning tear-filled eyes towards his other father. “But he said-”

“I told you, kiddo. He was lying, because he's jealous.” He leaned closer and rubbed their noses together in an eskimo kiss. “Cause no one loves _him_.”

Zach giggled softly, then snuggled against the diagnostician's chest. “What he said was _really_ not true?”

Wilson shook his head, and gave the child's cheek a soft kiss. “Really really.”

Zach smiled at him. “Okay.”

He didn't see his parents sharing a sad look. It was all too easy for a child to believe the world was a happy place.

_grocery shopping_

“Poppa, look! Ice cream in a box!”

“Alright, but only one flavor.”

“Two?”

“No.”

*~*

“Wilson, look. A new kind of beer.”

“We already have enough at home.”

“But Jimmy...”

“No.”

*~*

“Poppa, look! Sugary Chocolate Sugar Flakes! Please...”

“No way, kiddo! Your teeth will fall out if you eat those.”

“That's a lie, Daddy.”

“No, it's not. Here – these are better.”

“No, they're not! You like them, not me!”

“Oh, please! And who is it exactly that tries to eat them out of my bowl when I'm not looking?”

“Not me!”

“I think it is you!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

Wilson sighed, and put a box of normal surgar-coated corn-flakes into the basket, leaving the aisle before he could be dragged into the argument.

_chocolate cake_

Wilson couldn't help staring in shock. The whole livingroom was a mess – furniture pushed against the walls, toys scattered everywhere, glasses with water in at least three places. House was sitting sideways on the couch, while their son, after giving his Poppa a welcoming hug, resumed running around the room in circles.

“...what happened?”

House gave him a brief look, then went back to staring at their son. “He found the cakes.”

Wilson sighed. He had bought two cakes yesterday for tomorrow's dinner party. Both had a rather high percentage of sugar. “How much did he eat?”

“The chocolate one.”

“How many pieces?” Wilson rephrased his question, dropping his briefcase onto the nearest chair.

House gave him a desperate look. “The whole thing.”

Wilson blinked. Wait a second... “But the shop-assistant said that cake was enough for five people.”

“Five _adult_ people.” House muttered, reaching out and steadying the table-lamp when Zach run past it. “Or _one_ hungry six-year-old.”

Wilson stared. “How long has he been like this?”

“About an hour.” the diagnostician beckoned him closer, and Wilson obediently moved to sit down next to his husband, wrapping an arm around the other as he leaned closer. “Let me tell you, there is nothing scarier than a bored six-year-old on a sugar-high on a rainy day.”

As Wilson stared at their son, pumped high with energy, he couldn't help but agree. And pray for this to end quickly.

_midnight snack_

In his seven years of life, Zachary House-Wilson learned a lot of things. He learned how to walk, how to read, write, play the piano. He learned what he could tell people and what to keep secret.

But one of the earliest important things he had learned is where to go when he wanted something.

If he wanted a new book, he went to Poppa. If he wanted a new comic book, he went to Daddy.

If he wanted new shoes, he went to Poppa. If he wanted a new toy, he went to Daddy.

If he wanted some fruit, he went to Poppa. If he wanted a burger, he went to Daddy.

He knew who to go to considering what he wanted. He still wasn't sure about everything, though. That's why he was standing on this side of the bed, right now.

“Daddy.” he whispered, shaking his parent's shoulder. “Daddy.”

His Daddy gave a sleepy mumble, and opened his eyes slowly. “What is it?”

“I'm hungry.” He wasn't really. He just wanted to check something.

His Dad lifted his head slightly, glancing at the clock. “Midnight.” he muttered, then extended his arm, pulling the boy closer and pressing one ear to his tummy. “I don't hear rumbling. You sure you're hungry?”

Zach shrugged.

House sighed. “I'd fix you something, but your Poppa would be mad at me. He probably wouldn't even want to give me an adult kiss anymore.” Daddy winked, and Zach grimaced. 'Eww...'

His Dad rubbed at his eyes. “Tell you what: you can sleep with us tonight. How's that sound?”

Zachary grinned and climbed onto the bed, settling comfortably between his fathers, sighing happily when his Dad wrapped an arm around him.

So he had been right – ask for something he wasn't allowed at night, and he'd get to sleep in the big bed. Cool.

 _band-aid_  
Mrs. Johnson shifted on the cot in Exam Room 2, waiting patiently for the physician to come see her. The door opened and she sat up, trying to not look as nervous as she felt.

Her eyes widened when a child entered the room.

“Hello, I am Zachary House-Wilson and I will be your doctor today.” he said pleasantly, smiling at her.

She was pretty sure she was gawking at him. “Uh...”

“So what can I help you with today? And don't worry – I'm sure it's nothing a bandaid can't fix.”

She made a none-intelligent noise, then shook her head, forcing her mouth to close. Okay, maybe this kid was some kind of genius. She had seen a TV-show about a kid like that, but that one had been a teenager. Was it really possible for him to be...?

She was just about to demand he show his diplomas or something, when a large hand appeared suddenly, grabbing the stethoscope resting around the child's neck and pulling it off.

The hand was attached to a thankfully adult man. “Good morning. I'm doctor House, and this is my lovely assistant, Zachary.” he said, looking down at the boy.

The kid gave a sheepish grin.

“Now if you'll excuse him, he has to go to the office so his Poppa can lecture him about playing doctor with real patients.”

The child frowned worriedly. “But-”

“Now.” the man said, his tone allowing no further arguments.

“Aww, man.” the boy grumbled, leaving the room, and the man turned to her.

“So, let me guess – STD?”

_pins and needles_

Gregory House came awake slowly. His whole body was tingling, pins and needles everywhere making his muscles tighten in fright.

He knew that sensation. It came when he was thawing in his bed after an ice bath. But he couldn't remember being punished and that scared him even more. If he couldn't remember, that meant he had passed out during it. And that meant his Dad was going to be _so_ angry at him. He didn't want to get belted again, and he felt too shaky for sleeping outside.

A warm hand took hold of his own, gently rubbing at his skin. A soft murmur appeared from that direction, wrapping him in the soothing sounds. Both were comforting sensations and he risked opening his eyes, expecting to see his mother.

Instead, he saw Wilson. He was momentarily confused about why his husband was sitting by his beside – he didn't know Wilson yet.

“House? Greg?” Wilson murmured softly, petting the older man's brow. “How're you feeling?”

House wanted to answer, but the inside of his mouth felt like a dessert and the words refused to form.

Noticing the problem, Wilson slipped a few ice-chips past his lips, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “It's okay.” He leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “Do you remember what happened?” House found enough strength to shake his head. “The pharmacy gave you contaminated Vicodin. Your heart went wild.”

Huh. That explained why his thoughts were so muddy at the moment.

“You'll probably be feeling weird for some time yet.” The oncologist pressed a quick kiss to his chapped lips, gentle fingers threading through his hair. “Don't worry about anything. Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up.”

House blinked and smiled weakly, closing his eyes. It was okay. Wilson would keep Dad from punishing him for passing out. Wilson would keep him safe.

Even in the middle of his muddled thoughts, he was sure of that.

_in the kitchen_

Wilson blinked groggily, lifting his head and looking around, momentarily confused as to why he was alone in the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, and still no House. Not even a sound from the bathroom indicating his husband could be there.

He got up and made his way to the living room. Still noth-

Wait. There were definite whispers from the kitchen. Two in fact. And that was enough to make him frown. He glanced at the clock – 6.30 a.m. Way too early for either of them to be awake, especially on a weekend.

He crept closer, making extra sure his little family didn't notice him there, and held his breath to hear better.

“Put a marshmallow in.” Zach said, pointing a little finger at a cup.

“No offense, kiddo, but we don't put marshmallows in coffee.”

Zach pouted. “I want it to have a touch of something from me too.”

“I'll put it to the side, fine?”

“Okay.”

Wilson chuckled, angling his head to the side and smiling widely at the breakfast tray sitting on the counter-top. He turned around carefully, and hurried into the bedroom, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes.

Ten minutes later, the door opened and House limped in, carrying a tray. Zach followed after him, holding a cup of coffee.

They were both singing 'Happy Birthday, Daddy/Jimmy'.

Wilson sat up and grinned.

_thunderstorm_

House woke up to a loud sound. He glanced through the darkness of the room, the pitter-patter of the rain outside loud despite the closed window.

He scowled. He hated rain, the humidity and the coldness it brought always making his leg throb and refuse any kind of movement.

As if sensing his thoughts, the rain started coming down harder, hitting the glass in a steady thrum. He glared at the window, and pressed closer to the one next to him, trying to steal some warmth from him.

Wilson shifted, his eyes cracking open. “House?”

“Storm.” the diagnostician said simply, closing his eyes as a sign to go back to sleep.

An arm wrapped around his back, pulling him closer to the other's chest. “Is little House scared of the big bad storm?” If he didn't love the man, he'd be dead right now. “Don't worry, I'll protect you.”

House was just about to open his mouth and make the other regret his words, when a loud bash of thunder filled the room, and Wilson jumped with a yelp, tightening his hold on the diagnostician as his eyes opened wide.

House blinked, then a slow smirk appeared on his lips. “Awww, is ickle Wilson scared?”

A glare of brown eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

_mini golf & nauseous_

Wilson told the cab driver to stop and paid the fare, getting out without accepting the change. As the cab drove away, he walked calmly towards the red 'Vette, trying to keep the panic from his face and voice.

“Hey guys.” he called softly.

House answered with a pained smile. He was sitting on the hood of the car, their son curled in his lap, pressed tightly against his chest. Zach was pale and sniffling, brown locks damp with sweat. He was shivering, even despite being wrapped in his father's jacket.

House hadn't been exaggerating.

Wilson sat down next to his husband and gathered Zachy into his own arms, giving his husband a chance to stretch his leg while he talked.

“Hey buddy.”

“Hi, Poppa. I threw up.”

“I heard.” he rubbed the small back. “How was mini golf?”

Zach's face brightened weakly. “It was awesome. There was a Godzilla, and a castle, and a lake, and a mountain, and even a plane.”

“A plane, huh?”

“Yeah, and I played against Daddy on all of them and I won!” A happy little smile.

“Really? That's wonderful.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the sweaty forehead. “Did you win anything?”

“He got to eat as many hot-dogs as he wanted.” House answered. “I think it was a mistake though.” Considering their situation.

Zach shook his head. “It was worth it.” He gave a tiny smug grin, then groaned. “I think I'm gonna again.”

Wilson shook his head fondly, remembering a similar situation in the past. 'Like father like son.'

The younger man hugged the child close, and rubbed his son's belly. He waited till Zach relaxed before standing.

“I'll drive us home, how does that sound?”

House got into the passenger's seat, accepting their son's body back into his arms. “That was the idea. How soon do you need to get back to work?”

“I took the rest of the day off. How about it, Zachy? Wanna spend the rest of the day just the three of us?”

Zach nodded tiredly, and Wilson turned on the engine, turning the wheel and driving them home.

_hook, line and sinker_

Sometimes, House wondered what was it exactly that Wilson saw in him. He was rude, obnoxious, and a pain in the ass the size of Mount Everest. He was bitter, miserable, and the only two thing he could do well was solve puzzles and drive the ones he loved away. Far away, in-marriage-with-other-people away. Some days he woke up and asked himself if it was today when he would become Mrs. Ex-Wilson the Fourth.

What he didn't know, was that he had caught Wilson the first time he had laughed at something the man had said. The first time those blue eyes danced in mirth accompanied by a bright smile, Wilson had fallen. Hook, line and sinker.

_honey & shaving_

“House, stop squirming.”

“Stop rubbing so hard.”

“It's not my fault it's not getting off.”

“Yeah, yeah. They all say that.”

“Shut up.” A heavy sigh. “House?”

“What?”

“We've been at this for the last hour.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“And barely nothing's gotten off.”

“Your point being?”

A sympathetic look.

“...I knew it. You just wanna make me into one of your cancer kiddies.”

“House-”

“I know. Just get it over with.”

“It'll grow back.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Wilson. Shut up.”

“Okay.” Fumbling in the drawer. “Before I start, will you at least tell me how you got that much honey in your hair?”

“Nope.”

“Fair enough.”

[buzzzzz]

_music tastes_

Wilson was worried.

House was a very lively person. If he was not running around the place (cane and leg be damned most of the times), he was running his mouth, driving everyone up the walls. The only times he stayed still was when he was sick, unconscious or in a coma. But doing an imitation of a statue was almost never accompanied by crossed arms and glaring.

Which was happening right now.

Hence Wilson's worry.

“House?” the oncologist prodded gently, resisting the urge to squirm.

The diagnostician's scowl darkened, and he reached into his back pocket, taking out a CD and throwing it onto the table.

Wilson blinked, and looked away sheepishly.

There, now in the open, lay one of his darkest secrets – a Dido CD.

“Umm... a patient gave it to me.”

The damn receipt he had forgotten to throw away landed on top of the CD, dispelling that lie.

“It's just...” he tried to find words to justify his possesion, but they would not come.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence (at least for him), House got up.

“Just so you know, we're going to a club tonight, and I'm teaching you about good taste in music.”

Wilson nodded and watched the other walk away, then glanced at the CD.

Oh, boy. He needed to find better hiding spots.

_the last time_

Wilson entered House's office, sitting himself calmly in the chair opposite his husband. He watched for a few moments as the diagnostician played with Steve, making the rodent race around the desk after a piece of cracker. He chuckled when the rat finally got tired of the game, and sat up in front of House, begging for the treat like he had been taught to.

He continued the silent observation until the rat had finished eating.

“I had an interesting talk with Cuddy today.” he said finally. Well, not really a talk, considering Cuddy had yelled at him about ten clinic patients, twelve nurses, two of them fainting, three board members, and a janitor who was threatening a strike.

House didn't even lift his head. “About what?”

“About you freaking out half of the hospital.”

“She was exaggerating, I'm sure.”

Wilson sighed, then stood up. He knew only one way to make House sit still and hopefully listen, so he gathered Steve in his hands and deposited him on top of his husband's head.

As always, House went perfectly still, cocking his head to the side slightly as Steve caught his balance, then curled into a ball, content in his new napping place.

Satisfied, Wilson sat back down, waiting for the other to meet his gaze.

“House. I'm sorry to say, but considering Cuddy's threatening to make a glove out of him, this is the last time you brought Steve to work. Okay?”

House made a disgruntled face and the oncologist had to agree – his own young patients had loved the little rat.

_don't touch_

There was a new nurse on their floor. A young, sweet, stubborn little bitch that was driving him insane.

Whenever he saw her, she was running her mouth about his husband. How handsome he was, how smart, how endearing, how sexy.

If he ever again walked in on her telling anyone what she would do to that tight ass, he was grabbing the nearest sharp object and charging.

That ass was his, dammit!

He tried to tell himself that the other man would _not_ cheat on him. He tried to tell himself that his husband would tell her to hit the road or to jump out the window.

But the man didn't, and he was left grinding his teeth whenever the brat flirted with his spouse, be it subtly or sickeningly sweet.

He would not, however, act like a jealous wife and make a scene. They had been together for much longer than she could ever dream of, and he trusted his husband with all his heart. He did not feel threatened of his standing in their marriage at all. No siree. He was just pissed at having his territory invaded.

And then he saw the little witch actually daring to touch, lifting her bony hand and laying it on his husband's arm, and he felt his resolve crumble.

He marched over to the nurse, grabbing her offending arm and yanking it away.

“He's mine!” he growled, glaring darkly. “Don't touch or I'll make you suffer.”

She nodded in shocked fright, and he let her go. Then he grabbed his husband's arm and proceeded to pull the bemused House away from that living nightmare.

When they were both in his office, he slammed the door shut, hands flying to the older man's belt, undoing the pants quickly and pushing them down.

“Awww, is little Jimmy jealous?”

Wilson knew the he had most probably just been duped into having sex in his office, but at the moment he didn't care. “Shut up and bend over.”

House did, grinning smugly all the way through.

_say 'cheese'!_

“Zach, please stay still.”

“It itches.”

“It's because you don't wear it often, now be still while I comb your hair.”

“Fi~ne!”

“Calm down, kiddo. We both look like monkeys.”

“You're not helping, House.”

“Well, we do!”

“Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?”

“It'll hurt my leg.”

“Fine, do you want _me_ to sleep on the couch tonight?”

“No.”

“Then shut up and fix your tie.”

“But Poppa, why do we have to dress like this?”

“Because I promised Grandma a family photo. House, come here.”

“Keep that brush away from me.”

“Greg. Now.”

“Yes, dear.”

“There. Now you both look presentable.”

“Yuck.”

“You said it, kiddo.”

“Now, smile and say 'cheese'!”

“Do we have to?”

“Smile and I won't force either of you into the suits for the rest of the year.”

“CHEESE!”

[click]

_cold/flu_

Wilson opened the door, smiling gratefully at his mother.

“Thank you for coming.” he said, taking her coat. “I really appreciate this.”

“James, it's not a problem.” she smiled. “Now, where are they?”

“On the couch, both grumpy.”

She shook her head fondly and marched to the livingroom.

House was sitting on the couch, Zach in his lap, both huddled under a blanket.

“The Mamma Jew has arrived.”

“Hi, Nana.”

“Hello, you two.” she smiled warmly at the pair, then pressed a hand to each of their foreheads. “You poor dears.”

House batted her away. “I just have allergies, I'm fine.”

“Since when do allergies produce a fever?”

“I don't have a fever, it's your son's fault – he makes me hot.” A leer.

Wilson sighed, opening his mouth to apologise, but his mother beat him to it.

“If you're making lewd comments, at least I know you're not dying.” She grabbed the blanket, wrapping it higher around his neck. “But you're still sick.”

House grunted and closed his eyes, burrowing further into the warmth.

Nana Wilson smiled softly at him, then glanced at her granson, already dosing against his father's chest.

She turned around and headed for the kitchen. “I'll make them some soup.”

“I already prepared the broth.” Wilson followed after her.

“Wonderful.” she nodded. “And their medicine?”

The oncologist pointed to the two plastic bags sitting near the fridge. “Blue is Greg, purple is Zach. I wrote the doses and such down for you.” He handed her a piece of paper.

“Thank you, dear.”

He gave her a tight smile and glanced over his shoulder at the ill pair. “If you need anything, don't hesitate to call.”

“James, we'll be fine.” she lay a comforting hand on his arm. “You worry too much.”

“Yeah well...” He just knew House and Zach and what they could do when bored. Even sick.

She ushered him to the door. “James, really. Now off to work.”

He nodded, putting on his coat and grabbing his briefcase. “Bye, guys!” he called, kissed his mother and stepped out.

Hopefully, there would be no casualties when he returned.

_run & ten years ago_

“Zach! Get back here!”

“Catch me, Daddy!”

“Daddy can't run, so get back here!” House sat down heavily on the park bench, and rubbed at his thigh, keeping a sharp eye on the three-year-old coming towards him.

“Why you never run, Daddy?” Zach asked, standing before his father.

“I could run ten years ago.” House mumbled, momentarily not thinking as he rubbed away.

“How come?” the innocent question surprised him, and he cursed mentally at himself. Not the right time to introduce 'cripple' into his son's vocabulary.

He took a deep breath, deciding on the simplest version. “Ten years ago my leg got sick. And now I can't run or jump and stuff.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. But before I loved to run. I even played lacrosse, you know what that is, right? Yeah.” he chuckled at the memory. “You would've loved the me back then.”

Zach frowned and climbed onto the bench, wrapping his arms around his father's neck, squeezing tightly. “I love you lots and lots now!”

House blinked, then smiled, returning the hug. “Thanks, kiddo.” He closed his eyes, marvelling at the vehement statement, then gently urged his son to step back down. “Want some ice-cream?”

“Yeah!”

“Come on, then.” he got up, and made his way towards the vendor, Zach grabbing his coat and walking calmly with him.

Until he saw the ice-cream stand, that is.

_black coffee & cold beer_

House frowned, cocking his head to the side as he stared at the bottle in his hand. Or the skull adorning it, to be more precise.

“Hey, Jimmy!” he called, lifting the object when the other entered the kitchem. “This your doing?”

Wilson's eyes widened at the sight, then snickered. “No, but it is true.”

House glared, setting the bottle of beer labeled as poison down on the counter. “You've got to work on your sense of humour.” he grumbled.

Wilson chuckled, and gestured to the cupboard. “I didn't do it. How about I make you some coffee while we figure out this 'mystery'?”

House moved to sit down, still glaring at his husband.

Wilson shook his head and reached for the coffee can, stopping short when he noticed what was on it.

A white skull leered at him.

He turned around, and lifted the can for House to see.

Then diagnostician blinked, then sighed in exasperation. “Zach, get in here!”

When their thirteen-year old son got to the kitchen, he immediately crossed his arms over his chest, a slight scowl on his face.

Wilson lifted the can and bottle. “Did you do this?”

“Yes.”

“And why?”

“I just thought I should make you aware of the perils of your everyday habits.”

Wilson blinked in surprise.

“There are many studies indicating that both caffeine and alcohol are in fact slow-acting poisons, both deadly in their accumulative effect.”

Wilson openly gaped while House had trouble not laughing.

“So, I decided to label both as what they really are.” Zach concluded, nodding to himself and walked back to his room.

House watched him go. “I'm betting they had a talk about healthy living at school.” he got up and walked over to the other, grabbing the bottle and snickering at the label.

Wilson put his hands on his hips, contemplating this new development. “Probably.” he cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “I'll make spinach and broccoli for dinner then. It's healthy, after all.”

House grimaced at the thought. “That'll teach him.” He glanced once again at the bottle, then shrugged. “Bottom's up.” and took a large gulp.

_beach_

The sun was shining, the sand was warm and the sea was soothing.

Ah, Heaven.

A sudden shade put pause to his contentment, and House cracked open one eye, glaring at the towering figure.

“You're blocking my sun.”

Wilson blinked, continuing to stare in amazement.

“What?”

The oncologist shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I left you two alone for five minutes.”

House looked down at his body, completely buried under sand (sans his head and hands), with a little crude castle on his chest. “Zach was bored.”

_bad hair day_

“Ow. Owowowow! OW!”

“Zach, hold still. I'm almost done.”

“You said that half an hour ago.”

“You did, Jimmy.”

“Well, I'm sorry if I'm trying to save your hair instead of cutting it away. I'm sure Daddy can tell you how much 'fun' that was.”

A slow blink. “That was low.”

“And this is torture! Save me Daddy.”

“Shut up, both of you. And Daddy won't help you until I comb this mess out.”

And exaggerated groan.

A head cocked to the side. “Yah know, Jimmy, that kinda looks like a nest.”

“A nest? Of course, Greg, that's it! Why haven't I though of that?! It's a nest in our son's hai-...r.” Rapid blinking. “Zach?”

“Yes, Poppa?”

“Did you sleep with Sweeney Todd on your head?”

“...he was comfortable there.” A sheepish smile.

“Of course.” An exasperated sigh. “Like father like son.”

Sweeney Todd squeeked from his perch atop House's head.

“Steve hadn't slep in my hair.”

“No, but he practically lived in your pocket. Zach, what did I say?”

“Hold still?”

“Exactly.”

_overcast skies_

Zachary Wilson-House, in his twelve years of life learned to understand a lot of things.

Sometimes, people got very sick.

Sometimes, people died.

Sometimes, people had to live with constant pain, no matter how great they were.

Zach watched his hand disappearing in the larger one, his brown eyes trailing over the yellowed skin.

And sometimes their liver wasn't strong enough.

He glanced at his Poppa, arguing with a doctor outside the glass walls, gesturing animately. He couldn't hear what they were saying. Not like he cared at the moment.

He focused on the steadily rising and falling chest before him, and released the still warm hand, climbing onto the bed carefully. He lay down on his side, resting his head on the firm shoulder, one hand resting atop the rhythmic thump-thump from within.

What will happen when it stops?

Zachary Wilson-House, in his twelve years of life learned to understand a lot of things.

It will probably take twelve more to accept them.

_annoying habits_

When Wilson came to, he was more than happy to see a pair of blue eyes glaring at him.

“You're an idiot.” House grumbled, probably wishing for his cane so he could bash it over his head.

Wilson smiled.

“Did you even pause to think about Zach at all, you asshole?”

Briefly. Long enough to glimps their son's suffering.

“This is why you're so annoying. Caring too fucking much!”

Like he cared. He got what he wanted.

House took a few deep breaths, calming himself. Then he lifted his hand, laying it over the bandage on his side, eyes soft and warm.

“Thank you.”

Wilson grinned, moving his hand to his own bandage.

There was a part of him inside House, keeping him alive.

There was a part of him inside House.

A part of him.

Forever.

_massage & gentle caressing_

Wilson pressed his fingers down, rubbing them in soft circles as he released the pressure. He chose a particular spot, and rubbed the side of his thumb against it, soothing the quivering muscles with firm movements.

The body beneath his hands tensed briefly when he dug deeper, working on loosening all the knots hidden within the flesh.

Warm brown eyes watched closely as the pain finally dwindled, sinking down to normal levels, allowing the pained grimace to finally ease.

Wilson smiled when House sighed in relief, his body lax and sleepy from the attentions.

Wilson chuckled at a yawn, and released the no-longer-spasming limb, his hands sliding gently up his husband's sides as he moved higher up the bed.

House made a sound that strangely resembled a purr when the warm palms trailed across his skin, eagerly rolling onto his side when Wilson lay down next to him, his hands setting on House's back to pull him closer, one leg wedging itself carefully under the diagnostician's bad thigh to take the weight off it.

The oncologist pressed a gentle kiss to the other's temple, one hand lifting to card soothingly through the soft curls.

House sighed contentedly, the puff of breath tickling Wilson's skin and settled down for a nap, safe from the pain for now.

_lazy day & cold toes_

House stretched with a long 'mmm', the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. He was warm, comfortable and his leg was blissfully silent.

It was going to be a great day.

“House! Get up!”

As soon as he got Wilson back in bed.

He lifted his head slightly. “Get your Jewish ass in here!”

A few minutes later Wilson stood in the door, hands on his hips and all. “Get up, you lazy twerp.” he said. “It's almost nine, move it.”

“Do we have work today?”

“What? No, it's our free day, remem-”

“Do we have any plans?”

“..no.”

“Do we have to be somewhere?”

“No.”

“Are you cooking something?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Does the apartment resemble a garbage dump?”

“No.”

“Is Zach still on camp?”

“Yes.”

“Then get your sexy ass in bed.” Having said that, House promptly plopped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

Wilson stared at him for a moment, rubbing his neck as he contemplated the situation. He really didn't have to be awake.

Shrugging, he slipped his shirt and sweat-pants off, climbing under the covers. He smiled when House threw an arm over his waist blindly, and moved closer, pressing a soft kiss to his husband's lips before settling snuggly against him.

“Shit, Jimmy! What d'ya do, stick your feet in the freezer?!”

Wilson sighed and disentangled their legs.

 _bowling_  
House leaned over the balls, picking one up and inspecting its weight. Definitely too heavy. He set it down and reached for another. At the same time someone else did.

He let it go and stepped back, glancing at the other before picking another.

At least, he intended to.

“Fancy meeting you here, 'doctor' House.”

Tritter. Holy f-ing shit, Tritter.

Outside, he smirked arrogantly. “Detective. Looking for someone new to frame?”

Tritter's mouth twitched, a scowl showing. Aha, so it was a touchy subject now. Could Mr 'I will destroy you' have finally gone too far? Could be worth looking into later.

A steel-like grip clenched around his arm, Tritter leaning closer.

“I think I'll just take you in for dealing. To kids. You probably still got a ton of drugs at your place.”

House glared and changed the grip on his cane, preparing to use it as a weapon, hoping Wilson would spend a lot longer getting those damn shoes.

No need for witnesses.

But before any attack/defense could start, Tritter let out a short scream of pain, releasing his arm as he jumped back, bending down to clutch at his foot.

Zach sniffed and picked up the fallen bowling ball. “Sorry, it slipped.”

Wilson laid a hand on the ten-year-old's head. “I apologize for him. He's just so clumsy.” He gave a charming smile. “I do hope nothing's broken. Would you like one of us to have a look?”

“No.” Tritter hissed at them angrily, then turned, limping away.

House watched him go, cackling mentally to himself. A warm hand fell on his shoulder.

“Next time, ignore him and walk away.” Wilson muttered in his ear and turned to find them an alley, Zach and House (both smirking smugly) trailing after him.

_orgasm_

Pleasure exploded over his senses, traveling through his body in the form of a shiver. His back arched slightly, his hips shifting as he groaned.

His eyes slipped shut as warmth spread throughout his abdomen, his mouth falling slightly open. He let his tongue slip out, trailing over his lips slowly, sensually.

His toes curled, a soft moan reverberating through his chest. He closed his mouth, smacking his lips in ecstasy melting against his tongue.

He swallowed heavily, his esophagus nearly shuddering with glee, yet another soft sound escaping his throat.

On the other side of the table, Wilson raised an astonished eyebrow. “Wow. You really love those pancakes.”

House just grinned and took another bite.

_stargazing_

“See that one? With the three stars forming a belt?”

“Yeah.”

“That's Orion. On it's left there's Gemini, and on the left of that is Cancer.”

“Like the cancer Poppa makes better?”

“No, like the Zodiac sign. You know, like you're a Libra, I'm a Gemini and Poppa's a Virgo.” A snicker.

Wilson snorted, and shook his head at his husband. Zach glanced at him, gave a smile, then turned his gaze back to the sky, listening attentively as House continued with the 'lesson'.

The oncologist smiled softly, then looked up also, trying to locate each constellation the other was naming.

_entanglement_

House stared in bewildered wonder at the sight before him.

He had came home early from work, for once having diagnosed his patient _and_ completed his clinic duty without too much fuss, thus earning himself an extra two hours to spend with his little family before Christnukah dinner.

This however was not what he had been expecting.

He cocked his head to the side, leaning his weight on his cane a little more. “Yah know, Jimmy. I'm usually the one who gets into this type of situations with Zach.”

“Daddy!!” Their son grinned at him in welcome, trying to get up onto his feet so he could give his parent a hug. Succeeding only in getting the tinsel and garlands wrapped tighter around himself.

“Zach, stop before you choke yourself.” Wilson muttered, grabbing the still struggling six-year-old and pulling him closer himself. Once he had the child settled against himself, he continued trying to free them both.

Frustrated brown eyes rose to meet amused blue. “You could help, you know.”

“I know.” House gave a grin. “I'm just basking in this moment.” A short pause. “Is this how you feel when you have to save _us_ from predicaments like this?”

“If you mean fondness, exasperation and a small amount of happiness at not being stuck in the middle, then yes.” He glanced at the mess surrounding them. “Is this how you feel when you need rescue?”

“If you mean a giant sense of fun and mischief, accompanied by the boredom of your incoming lecture about being the responsible adult, then yes.”

A small glare. “You're going to mock me for this, aren't you?”

“Mock you – no. Be sickeningly gleeful and smug – yes.”

“...just get us out.”

“I have a better idea. Scoot over, kiddo. Daddy's gotta get tangled up in there with you.”

“Yey!”

_swimming pool_

Zach sat huddled under the towel, rubbing at the still damn skin of his arm absently.

He really hadn't thought they'd send him to the headmaster's office. Or that they would call his parents and tell them to come.Or that he'd be banned from the swimming pool for the rest of the year.

Really, it wasn't his fault. It was those stupid girls, screaming and jumping and crying like little brats. They were the ones who stampeded around the whole place like a bunch of psychos.

Girls were really weird.

Finally the door opened, both his parents stepping out. Dad moved to sit on the seat next to him, Sweeney Todd's furry head sticking out of his pocket, while Poppa stood before him, hands on his hips, staring at him with stern eyes.

“Zachary.”

Uh oh, the full name. There goes the hope they wouldn't be too mad.

“Yes, Poppa?”

“What is the rule about taking Sweeney Todd to school?”

“Not to.”

“Exactly. Now, I assumed it was obvious, but for future reference I'll change it for you – No taking Sweeney Todd to school, field trips or especially the school swimming pool. Understood?”

“Yes, Poppa.”

“And you're grounded for two weeks.” Dad added, and Zach's head whipped towards him, mouth opening to protest.

“Don't make us make it a whole month.” Poppa warned and his mouth clamped shut with an audible click. “Good. I'll get the car.” With that, the oncologist turned on his heel and marched to the exit.

Blue eyes watched him go, then turned to the unhappy form of his son, head down and little fingers picking at the towel he was wrapped in.

He wrapped an arm around the smaller shoulders, leaning his head close so that he could whisper.

“Once, I took Steve McQueen with me to the pool at the hospital.”

Zach blinked – Steve McQueen was Dad's Sweeney Todd. He lifted his head and met his father's amused eyes.

“Poppa had been mad at me too.” He pressed a soft kiss to his son's forehead and ruffled his damp hair. “Now c'mon, and we'll get your things.”

Zach gave a small smile and hopped to the floor, leading the way to the changing room, somehow no longer feeling so bad about what happened.

Not enough to ever attempt doing it again, but still.

_striptease_

Wilson came into the living room, two bowls of popcorn in his hands. He frowned for a moment at the two sitting on the couch. Or, to be more precise, he frowned at his son's oddly bright eyes as he stared at the movie in his hands.

“I haven't asked before, but I will now. What movie did you pick?” the oncologist asked slowly, setting the bowls down on the table.

Zach lifted his head, grinning like mad. House shifted in his place, looking away uncomfortably.

“Greg. What. Movie.”

“ _Striptease_.”

Wilson's brow twitched. “You let our thirteen-year-old son pick a movie in which the main actress strips for money?”

“To win her daughter back. That's a dedicated parent, yah know.”

“Greg.”

“Shutting up now.”

A small hand started tugging on his pants-leg, big brown hopeful eyes staring up at his. “But Poppa, I really want to see this one.”

Wilson sighed, rubbing his temple for a moment before he relented with a nod. “Fine. But before you hit _play_ keep in mind that this will be the last movie you picked to watch for a year, cinema included.”

Zach sat back, thinking about it. So many movies would be coming out soon, movies he wanted to go see, movies that he couldn't miss. He looked at the cover thoughtfully, then leaned closer to his Dad.

“Are there boobs in this one?” he asked in a whisper.

“I think so.” And equally quiet answer.

Decision made, he thrust the box at his Poppa. “This one then. And I agree to your terms.”

Poppa sighed heavily, while Dad tried not to laugh.

 _all the love in the world_  
“Zach, you're gonna miss your train!”

“I know!” Zachary Wilson-House called back, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. His feet still wouldn't move though, eyes locked on his home's living room.

This was it. This would be the last time he stood in his home for the next year, the last time he was standing in-between the comforting walls.

This had been his haven. For twenty years this has been the place where he was the safest, where the outside world wasn't so big and scary anymore. This apartment had always been filled with all the love he had ever needed in his little world.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. Now it was time to face that 'scary world' and smirk smugly at it.

With one last look, he turned around and moved to the door, smiling confidently at his parents.

“Ready to go?”

“He's packed and sober, of course he's ready.”

Zach chuckled, grinning. University, here I come.

THE END


End file.
